inculcated in them."

"Such as----"

"Truth and honesty, Caspar, my friend. Your daughter's accomplishments
will not include candor, I fear."

Mr. Brooke was silent for a moment, his face expressing more concern
than he knew. Mrs. Romaine watched him furtively.

"It may be so," he said at last in a rather heavy tone, "but it can't be
helped. I had no hand in choosing a school for her, Rosalind"--his voice
took a pleading tone "you will do your best for her? You will be her
friend in spite of defects in her training?"

"I will do anything that I can. But you will forgive me for saying,
Caspar, that it is hard for me to forget that she is the daughter of the
woman who--practically--wrecked your life."

Brooke's face grew hard again. He uttered a short laugh, which had not a
very agreeable sound.

"Wrecked my life!" he repeated, disdainfully. "Excuse me, Rosalind. No
woman ever had the power of wrecking my life. Indeed, I have been far
more fortunate and prosperous since Lady Alice chose to leave me than
before."

Mrs. Romaine said nothing. She was an adept in the art of insinuating by
a look, a turn of the head, a gesture, what she wished to convey. At
this moment she indicated very clearly, though without speaking a word,
that she sympathized deeply with her friend, Caspar Brooke, and was
exceedingly indignant at the way in which he had been treated.

Perhaps Mr. Brooke found the atmosphere enervating, for with a half
smile and shake of the head, he rose up to go. Mrs. Romaine rose also.

"She comes to-morrow evening," he said, before he took his leave.

"To-morrow evening? You will be out!"

"No, it is Wednesday: I can manage an evening at home. Perhaps you will
kindly look in on Thursday afternoon?"

And this Mrs. Romaine undertook to do.

Caspar Brooke continued his walk along the Eastern side of Russell
Square and Woburn Place. His quick observant eyes took note of every
incident in his way, of every man, woman, and child within their range
of vision. He stopped once to rate a cabman, not too mildly, for beating
an over-worked horse--took down his number, and threatened to prosecute
him for cruelty to animals. A ragged boy who asked him for money was
brought to a standstill by some keenly-worded questions respecting his
home, his name, his father's occupation, and the school which he
attended. Of these Mr. Brooke also made a note, much to the boy's
dismay; but consolation followed in the shape of a